I like to write junk...

TOXIC?

When I think of the word “toxic,” fumes and vapors hanging in the air after escaping from rusty 55-gallon drums come to mind, along with vile-smelling green liquid sitting in puddles on the ground.

Homeless camps with human waste surrounding them are also toxic, as I’ve personally observed many of these nasty encampments in various cities. Truck stops can be toxic, especially in sleeping areas where truckers toss urine-filled bottles onto the ground. All three toxic examples are nothing that a flamethrower couldn’t handle.

There’s more to the word toxic than material elements, as I recently observed two people sitting in a truck at a local park arguing, or I should say, one of them was doing all of the arguing using hands and arms to exasperate the situation. I thought he was actually striking the passenger. Domestic violence seems high around here, as it is in other places.

A toxic personality is characterized by behaviors and attitudes that consistently harm or undermine others. In this case, one of the individuals was toxic in nature, while the other was subject to all of the toxic abuse.

Imagine a coworker who frequently spreads negative gossip, belittles colleagues, and takes credit for others’ work. These folks are quite common in the workplace. I once worked with a woman who constantly talked about why she hated her job. When I finally asked why she didn’t simply quit and look for another, the answer was blunt but truthful. “Because no one will hire me!”

Creating a hostile work environment, this person lowered team morale and made it difficult for others to trust or collaborate effectively. This pattern of negativity and manipulation is a hallmark of a toxic personality.

What does the Bible say about Toxic? I found the following on Reddit and decided to use it, along with a few sentence changes and some of my own personal interaction. The person who wrote it did not disclose their real name, simply calling themselves True Christian.

“The term ‘ toxic ‘ is another word for ‘poisonous.” Unlike normal relationships, toxic relationships poison our peace and ability to enjoy another person. Toxic relationships leave one feeling exhausted, frustrated, and even depressed.

Toxic relationships affect business partnerships, sports teams, and, most of all, families. Some disharmony in a relationship is normal, but some people inject poison into every relationship, which makes healthy give-and-take impossible. Those types of people are known as toxic people, and the Bible does have some advice for us in dealing with them.

True, there are some people’s company we don’t prefer, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they are toxic. We may be polar opposites ideologically, yet we can still maintain a comfortable relationship. Democrats can enjoy the company of Republicans, a New York Yankees fan can have a friendly relationship with a Boston Red Sox fan, and Christians can even engage in healthy interactions with non-Christians.

However, if a person is toxic, they cannot maintain a healthy relationship with anyone. Only those willing to suffer the selfish demands of the toxic person can endure such a relationship for long. Thankfully, I’ve never been in a toxic relationship.

Several factors determine whether or not a relationship or a person is toxic:

The relationship is completely one-sided, favoring the toxic person. Toxic people are incredibly narcissistic and can think only of themselves and what they want at the moment. This is a direct violation of Philippians 2:3–4, which says, “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.” Toxic people may pretend to be doing something for someone else, but there is always an ulterior motive that benefits them.

There is continual drama in toxic relationships. Ironically, toxic people are often the ones who proclaim for all to hear how much they “hate drama.” Yet they instigate it everywhere they go. They seem to thrive on it. They cannot go from point A to point B in a simple, straightforward manner. They are a constant tangle of excuses, lies, fabrications, and crazy situations that weary everyone else in their world. They enjoy complicating otherwise simple situations because it keeps attention focused on them.

They are always right. Toxic people are never wrong and will look down on anyone who dares to correct or disagree with them. They mask their extreme pride with fake humility, but there is rarely any true repentance because they don’t believe they are wrong. It is always someone else’s fault. Proverbs 16:18 says, “Pride goes before a fall and a haughty spirit before destruction.” Haughtiness dominates toxic people, even when they try to hide it behind self-pity or groveling. If you are in a toxic relationship, the “destruction” the toxic person has earned due to pride often lands on you, too.

Others dread confrontations or interactions with a toxic person. They may appear delightfully charming to outsiders, but those in a relationship with a toxic person know the real story. Every interaction, no matter how innocent it may begin, ends with the twist of a dagger. Everyone else is left to deal with the fallout while the toxic person skates away, seemingly unfazed. If you become anxious at the thought of another interaction with someone in your life, through no fault of your own, you may be in a toxic relationship.

Toxic people relish victimhood. Everything happens to toxic people, and the world should take notice. They shouldn’t be held responsible, they think, because it wasn’t their fault—even though it was. Self-pity practically drips from them, even though they may mask it with a facade of strength. They love to appear as martyrs and will even construct situations that portray them in that light. Those in a relationship with a toxic person usually end up looking like the bad guy. Outsiders often silently judge the friends or family members who are “intolerant” of this poor victim, which creates division and misunderstanding in peripheral relationships.

Toxic people lie. If their mouths are moving, toxic people are probably lying. They lie more easily than they tell the truth and are so convincing that even those who know better question their own perceptions. Toxic people justify their lies by telling themselves that they had no choice. When caught red-handed in a lie, they may feign remorse, but all the while they may be concealing a dozen more lies no one has discovered yet. Scripture has harsh words for liars. God has a zero-tolerance policy for liars, and He is not fooled by any of their excuses (Revelation 21:8). Proverbs 6:16–19 lists seven things the Lord hates, and lying is on the list twice.

King Saul is a great example of a toxic person. He began well, but power, pride, and jealousy crippled his soul. His furious jealousy of young David manifested itself in a confusing array of moods. One moment, Saul was calm and enjoying David’s music; the next, he was trying to kill him (1 Samuel 19:9–10).

Saul would appear to show remorse, but soon he was hunting David again (1 Samuel 24:16–17; 26:2, 21). Later, Saul violated a serious command from the Lord to make himself appear well to people (1 Samuel 15). That sin cost Saul his kingdom.

We have been called to peace (Colossians 3:15), but a toxic relationship destroys peace. Some people are so abusive that they will not allow us to seek or broker peace in any area. When the relationship is continually filled with unwanted drama, when you find yourself dreading the next blowup, when you cannot believe anything this person says, or when someone is destroying your reputation and sanity, then it is time to create distance in the relationship.

Psalm 1 gives specific instructions about keeping away from wicked fools. We are blessed when we do not seek out friendships with them or listen to their counsel. Toxic people fit into that category. They are not content to destroy their own lives; they must take others with them. It helps to remember that you cannot change a toxic person, especially from within a toxic relationship. You cannot help toxic people unless they want to be helped, which is very rare in those types of relationships.

People-pleasers are the most frequent victims of toxic relationships because they want the toxic person to like them. But there are times when closing the door on a relationship is the wisest thing you can do (Proverbs 22:24–25). If you are married to a toxic person who has turned your relationship into a toxic marriage, then a separation may be in order, along with some focused marital counselling. If you are not married, then it’s time to say goodbye.

In every situation involving a toxic relationship, take the matter to God in prayer. Cry out to “receive mercy and find grace” to help in the time of need (Hebrews 4:16). “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7). Petition the Lord unceasingly to change the heart of the person bringing the toxicity. There is hope and healing in Him.”

GOT A GRUDGE?

“You would’ve never known it because she was the most beautiful girl with brown hair.”

I’ve never held a grudge against someone that I know of, but have had a few crushes on people in my life, thankfully, always someone of the opposite sex. One of them involved a college-age girl who worked at a Pizza Hut in Spenard, Alaska. The year was 1970.

I don’t believe I was the only one taking a liking to her, as my friend Jeff saw the same merits in Tracy Turnbull as did I. We were just high schoolers back then, but this young lady talked to us with sincerity, knowing, yet not saying, that we were much too young for her.

Part of our intrigue was that Tracy told us her dad had taught her how to work on cars, and she didn’t mind getting grease under her fingernails. You would’ve never known it because she was the most beautiful girl with long brown hair. Jeff and I each saw her as a perfect girlfriend, yet there was no jealousy or competition between us.

We haunted Pizza Hit as often as our money held out, generally opting for the cheapest thing on their menu: splitting a ham or turkey sandwich. Water was our beverage of choice because it was free. There came a time when we both became terribly sick from food poisoning, a ham sandwich the culprit, no fault of Tracy’s.

I seriously thought about asking this gal out, that is, until we bumped into her in a Carr’s grocery store with her boyfriend. Jeff and I were riding bicycles that day. Knowing both of our names by then, Tracy introduced us to her fiancé as good friends. The guy was athletic and tall, and I believe on the University of Alaska – Anchorage basketball team. I saved myself some future embarrassment by seeing this.

A crush, unlike a grudge, is a strong but often short-lived feeling of romantic attraction or infatuation that someone experiences toward another person. Having a crush usually involves thinking about the person frequently, feeling excited or nervous around them, and admiring their qualities, even if the feelings are not reciprocated or openly expressed.

A grudge is a persistent feeling of resentment or anger toward someone, often due to a past incident or perceived wrongdoing. Holding a grudge means you continue to harbor negative emotions and refuse to forgive, which can affect relationships and personal well-being.

Letting go of grudges is important for emotional health and is often encouraged in teachings like Ephesians 4:26-27, which emphasize resolving conflicts promptly.

My wife once asked me why I held no grudge against a family member who had basically robbed me of a few thousand dollars. When I say robbed, I mean that I invested money with the person on the promise that I’d get it back. That never happened. I just took things in stride here, knowing better than to let it happen again. Afterwards, we still talked as if nothing had ever happened.

Going back to my teenage years, a crush could leave an almost exhilarating feeling, making me happy to be alive. Grudges, on the other hand, according to doctors and also the Bible, have negative connotations that can take years off a person’s life. Thankfully, I was wise enough to get the message early.

God tells those holding grudges to resolve their conflicts before the sun goes down. I’ve always done this, especially with my spouse and children, not wanting the stress from lingering conflict to prematurely age me and shorten my time with loved ones. It’s worked according to God’s plan thus far.

I’m not sure I’ll ever have another crush, at least not of the human variety. I did see a vintage unrestored truck at a local car show with a “for sale” sign in its front window—the brown patina immediately catching my attention. Crush, lust, call it what you want. All I know is that I loved that rust!

DUST IN THE WIND

“Dust in Lake Havasu City can be bad at times, with dusting becoming a weekly ritual if not daily.”

It’s dusting time in our house again, and Hazel’s nowhere to be found. Sometimes I believe she went “union” on us. We rely on Hazel exclusively to keep dust off furniture and often have her clean vehicles when they need a little TLC (tender loving care). They generally get dusty, not dirty, like in Alaska.

Hazel is not a real person, unlike the housekeeper of the same name featured in an early 1960s television sitcom starring Shirley Booth. Our Hazel is an authentic ostrich-feather duster like the one I used as a stocker at a grocery store. The fluffy feathers on a stick were always kept in a back pocket back then.

Dust in Lake Havasu City can be bad at times, with dusting becoming a weekly ritual if not daily. Having bad allergies to Arizona dust and pollen, Joleen is generally the one putting Hazel through the wringer, while my main household task is Vacuum Master. On occasion, you’ll find me dusting while holding my breath.

Dust in this city isn’t as bad as it was when we lived in Lubbock, Texas. My brother and I were assigned the dreadful chore during summer months to daily dust and vacuum our trailer home. Dust in Lubbock is red, and when a wind storm passed through, everything was covered, despite doors and windows being shut.

How it got in is still a mystery to me, and even now that we live in a house, it makes no difference. I’ve opened cardboard boxes sealed shut for years and found trace amounts of dust inside, and picture frames, too.

In 1977, the rock group Kansas released a tune called “Dust in the Wind.” Each time I hear it on the radio, I get a reminder to check our coffee table for the stuff, as this heavy piece of furniture seems to be the central dust magnet in our home.

How this song came to be is an interesting story. “Dust in the Wind” was written by Kerry Livgren, one of the founding members of Kansas. The inspiration for the song came when Livgren was experimenting with a fingerpicking exercise on his guitar, which his wife encouraged him to turn into a full composition.

The lyrics reflect a philosophical perspective on life’s fleeting nature, influenced by Livgren’s readings in existentialism and the phrase “all we are is dust in the wind.” Bible verses 3:20 and 12:7 in Ecclesiastes helped to kindle his thoughts. The song ultimately became one of Kansas’s most iconic hits, resonating with listeners for its contemplative message about mortality and impermanence.

Two years after writing this tune, Kerry Livgren became a born-again Christian, and his music drifted more towards spiritual themes. I can see now why, because the hit song he wrote about dust conjures up depression to me, unless I knew I was going to a better place after death, of which I do. Perhaps Kerry felt the same until finally seeing the light?

As long as there’s wind, we’ll be dusting until the day we die, and I have an inside joke about dust that relates to the famous Kansas song, as well as those two Bible verses.

Viewing the dust covering our coffee table as a bunch of lazy people, I think to myself, “You folks need to move on down the road because there’s no loitering in this house. Don’t let the door hit you in the…!” I believe you know the ending here without me spelling things out.

At this point, Hazel is looked upon to do her thing, that is, when we can find her!

AGUA

“Over the course of a year, this adds up to approximately 29,000 to 36,500 gallons per person.”

Agua, or water, is an important entity, especially in the Arizona desert. Without water, humans couldn’t survive, nor could wildlife. Even scaly lizards and snakes need a certain amount of the precious liquid to stay alive. Something within their biological system makes them living water conservators.

For the past several years, I’ve kept a bowl next to an automatic watering nozzle in our front yard. It’s partially hidden, yet quail, roadrunners, pigeons, hawks, and even coyotes still find it and take advantage of the bowl never being empty.

I’ve taken photos of some, with smaller birds using it as a bath house of sorts. During the heat of summer, I suppose a quick splash feels good, although the water isn’t always cool. They don’t seem to mind.

Our swimming pool, holding about 14,000 gallons of water, attracts bees more than anything else. I believe that the taste of chlorine probably keeps the other critters away. I’ve found a few tiny snakes swimming around, but that’s rare. The last time was maybe five years ago.

In the Arizona desert, swimming pools can lose significant water to evaporation, especially during the hot summer months. On average, a typical backyard pool may lose between 1/4 and 1/2 inch of water per day, which amounts to roughly 200 to 400 gallons per week for a standard-sized pool. During the hottest months and over the course of a year, that averages out to around 14,200 gallons.

Factors such as temperature, humidity, wind, and pool size can affect the exact amount lost to evaporation. We recently drained and refilled the concrete enclosure, which we do on average every two years. That’s a lot of wasted water.

On average, a person in the United States uses about 80 to 100 gallons of water per day for household activities such as bathing, cooking, cleaning, and watering plants. Over the course of a year, this adds up to approximately 29,000 to 36,500 gallons per person. This annual usage highlights the importance of conserving water, especially in arid regions like the Arizona desert.

The water that my wife and I drink is bottled, as our water softener adds sodium, which is not good to consume. We’ve never used the reverse osmosis system installed in our home because this device also wastes water. Reverse osmosis systems typically waste about three to four gallons of water for every gallon of purified water produced.

This means that while they provide high-quality drinking water, they are not the most water-efficient option, especially in areas where water conservation is important. I try to be conservative about showers and handwashing, yet savings are minimal compared to the pool’s evaporation.

Water in Arizona, despite the Colorado River and a few others still flowing, isn’t bottomless like fries at Red Robin. Aquifers are drying up, such as the one in Wenden. This relates to agricultural uses and to water being piped to the Phoenix area.

Folks living in Kingman are highly concerned about huge wells sucking up thousands of gallons for agriculture, mostly nut-growing. Nut-growing uses massive amounts of the precious liquid because nut trees, such as almonds, pistachios, and walnuts, require consistent irrigation to produce healthy crops, especially in arid climates like Arizona.

These trees have deep roots and require ample water throughout the growing season to support nut development and maintain yield. Additionally, growing nuts often involves watering not only the trees but also the surrounding soil to prevent stress and ensure optimal conditions for growth.

Builders continue to build homes while water supplies throughout the state are decreasing. To me, that’s like building boats when there’ll eventually be no water to float them. Politicians are allowing this to happen without any attempt to curtail the construction of homes or swimming pools.

Where will this eventually end up? Your guess is as good as mine. If no additional water is brought in through offshore desalination plants from California, life in Arizona as we now know it will come to a grinding halt.

Some time ago, I watched a 1973 horror movie about people evolving into snakes called “Sssssss.” In this film, a herpetologist, Dr. Thomas Stoner, develops a serum that could transform humans into the slithering creatures.

These snake people, much like lizards, undoubtedly, could survive without using large amounts of water, or agua as it’s called in Spanish. I’m not sure there’s another practicing Dr. Stoner out there, but if there is, Arizonians may very well need his services within the next 20 years.

Looking in the mirror this morning, at all of my dried, cracked skin and wrinkles, I could very well be evolving that direction naturally, without Dr. Stoner’s help!

FLOWER POWER

“Next year is our 50th wedding anniversary. Because this is a special occasion, I’ve been thinking about what I should do with flowers, plants, or balloons. “

For many years, I’d send flowers to my wife’s workplace on Valentine’s Day, birthdays, and wedding anniversaries. It seemed like the thing to do because other husbands and boyfriends did the same. Joleen would always call and say that they were beautiful, ending the conversation with, “You didn’t have to!”

I would’ve felt guilty not doing so out of peer pressure alone. The sad part of this ritual was that the once-colorful flowers died within a week. Rigor mortis quickly set in with delicate petals falling to the floor. There was nothing beautiful to look at other than the vase. We ended up with gobs of them.

Back in my early years, I didn’t have ‘money to burn’ as Dad often said, with hard-earned cash spent on ‘soon to die’ flowers fitting into that category. I eventually started giving Joleen plants, but that turned into a chore once they grew bigger than the pots would allow.

A rubber tree completely took over our small living room. With no one wanting the monster, I placed it outside on a cold Alaskan winter day and watched it literally freeze to death. I believe this tropical tree actually cried out in pain.

I once thought of giving Joleen a packet of flower seeds for her birthday, but quickly nixed that idea. It seemed humorous to me, but I didn’t want to take a chance on the joke backfiring like they have countless times.

Mylar balloons took the place of flowers and plants, and all was Jim Dandy for quite a spell. Joleen would carefully deflate a balloon and place it on her office wall as a decoration. One evening after the employees had gone home, someone came back in and deflated a recently delivered balloon.

Arriving at work the next morning, Joleen discovered a bright yellow, smiley face balloon had been slashed with a razor. Not knowing who did it, and at my advice, she taped things back together and placed the desecrated remnants on her wall.

When other employees asked what happened, all but one that is, this pretty much pointed out the guilty party. The unconcerned gal was often referred to by others as being a few cards shy of having a full deck, for whatever that means. She was said to have made a snarky remark regarding one of the earlier balloon deliveries.

A Hallmark card, along with a nice lunch or dinner, eventually took the place of flowers, plants, and Mylar balloons for special events. I suppose there are some who’d berate me for this, especially florists. Joleen doesn’t seem to mind as long as she gets to choose the restaurant.

Why flowers seem to wield so much power on special occasions is a question I recently asked myself, so I decided to investigate. The term “flower power” refers to a slogan and movement that emerged during the 1960s as a symbol of passive resistance and nonviolence, particularly in opposition to the Vietnam War. It is closely associated with the counterculture and hippie movements, where flowers were used as symbols of peace and love.

The phrase was popularized by poet Allen Ginsberg, who encouraged people to use the beauty of flowers to protest against violence and promote harmony. Images of activists placing flowers in gun barrels or wearing floral clothing became iconic representations of this period.

That bit of internet trivia tells me absolutely nothing about why they’re considered a necessity for special events, especially funerals. My mom had a flower saying of her own, and it had to do with love, although not on the same level as hippies refer to. Mom said, “Don’t waste money on flowers when I die. If you wanna do something nice for me, do it when I’m alive.”

I heard that unusual statement several times, going back to my childhood, along with other tidbits of wisdom, so there was ample time for things to sink in. Mother told my brother and me that once she was gone, there was nothing anyone could do for her, as heavenly preparations had already been made beforehand.

According to her, flowers brought to her funeral would do little other than make some business owner smile. Mom grew up during the depression, so her wisdom always centered on being prudent with money. I didn’t exactly follow this lesson, but I’m now trying to do the same.

Next year is our 50th wedding anniversary. Because this is a very special occasion, I’ve been thinking about what I should do regarding flowers, plants, or balloons. Mylar balloons are highly frowned upon, especially with the snowflake crowd. That’s reason enough for me to go that direction.

Flowers and plants have been given so much over the years that I doubt Joleen would be thrilled, other than perhaps a dozen red roses. Some premium silk roses actually look better than the real deal, so that’s an idea.

Last on my list are bubbles. There are some really nice bubble-making machines on the market, with these units producing hundreds of bubbles each minute. That’d be a sight to behold, with the grandchildren undoubtedly running around and popping them.

I tend to lean this direction, as that device would be enjoyable long after our anniversary is over. Down the road, I can see bubbles appearing in places never before intended, with endless possibilities here. Instead of “Flower Power,” these translucent round spheres will quickly become known as “Bubble Trouble.”

WASTED TIME?

“Years ago, I wrote a story on this called “Contorted Recess.”

I remember my father talking about a couple of guys he grew up with, after they retired, sitting on a bench in front of the Lamar County, Alabama, Courthouse, each day, whittling. He saw it as a waste of time and said they probably didn’t live very long.

Dad believed that doing most anything not connected with making money was wasteful. He worked up until his 80s, and I suppose to him work was enjoyable. I know that there are several people here in Havasu who feel the same way because I’ve met them. A few of these seniors have to work because retirement funds aren’t keeping pace with inflation.

For those unfamiliar with the word “whittling”, it’s the art of carving shapes or objects from a piece of wood using a knife. Often considered both a relaxing hobby and a traditional craft, whittling can range from simple projects like making small figurines or utensils to more intricate designs.

All it typically requires is a sharp pocketknife and a suitable piece of soft wood, making it an accessible pastime for people of all ages. Many find whittling a meditative activity, allowing for creativity and focus while producing unique, handmade items.

As a child, I enjoyed whittling, though I used soapstone or other soft rocks instead of wood. I took my pocketknife to school in the 4th grade, and would sit during recess and lunch, making what I called, stone flutes. This might’ve been stretching things a bit.

I taught several of my classmates how to do this until Mrs. Hagan shut down our flute-making operation. Years ago, I wrote a story on this called “Contorted Recess.” I consider it one of my best compositions.

I don’t entirely agree with my father’s view that non-financial entities are a waste of time. Fishing is a good example. Some retirees spend hours at lakes and rivers trying to reel in those flopping and slimy creatures. These days, I don’t enjoy fishing as much as I do eating them, especially halibut.

Golf is not a money-making proposition to me, although Dad said that more financial deals are made on a golf course than in boardrooms. I know that this hobby is expensive, and for those fellows playing merely for entertainment, most likely, money doesn’t matter to them, although their wives might say differently.

Flying is an expensive hobby, as are boating, motorcycles, and racing. Bicycling once helped me relax, yet I don’t find it as relaxing now, worrying about what’ll happen if and when I fall. Walking just about completely takes its place.

In Alaska, we had neighbors who built wooden objects and painted them in their garage, then sold them at places like craft shows and art fairs. The Andersons made good money at it, and the whole family took part. They seemed to look at it as a profitable hobby.

I now have to wonder if Dad’s old classmates didn’t sell their whittled creations to locals. That was something else that my father always said, “Women will buy anything, especially dust collectors.”

I’ve thought about taking up stone whittling again, or carving, as it’s mostly known around these parts. The American Indians supposedly made stone flutes, and they’re quite rare to find, although imitations are available in gift shops. Those are generally made by Chinese Natives.

My flutes were more like whistles, maybe six inches long, with one long hole drilled through the complete stone, and several others interjecting. It took some practice to have the ends meet.

I’m sure there are better tools out there to drill stone than a pocket knife. A Makita cordless drill and carbide bits will make things much quicker than going it by hand. I may be able to mass-produce these things while sitting at our living room coffee table.

What will I do with them afterwards, you ask? Some folks paint up small rocks nice and pretty, placing them in specific areas around town. I spot these creations on occasion. This artwork, plus sharing it, undoubtedly gives those artists some stress relief.

I’d be more apt to toss my hollowed-out stone flutes during desert forays, in places where they might not be discovered for years. Some desert explorer would eventually discover one and take it to a professional for inspection.

“Is this Apache or Navajo?” they’d curiously ask. Looking at the object for a few seconds, the archaeologist would quickly say, “No, it’s a crudely made stone flute most likely created by a former local Havasu resident named Michael Hankins. Judging by how many we’ve seen, the guy must’ve had ample time to waste!”

THE LAST PERSON?

“Pastor Robert Durr went on to tell me that the fellow recently had bypass surgery.”

I’ve told this story over the years to several people, mostly, if not always, friends, and I still find it coming to mind quite regularly. It took several years after this incident happened for me to finally get the message.

It’s been 46 years since Reverend Robert L. Durr, a man I knew well, pastor of Anchorage Bible Missionary Church, walked into a store where I worked and showed me a handwritten invoice. He asked if I was the one who had written it, undoubtedly knowing the answer beforehand, because the initials MH were penciled in a square block for store employees.

Telling Robert that it was me, and believing I’d sold him the wrong car part, he asked if we could step outside, where he began telling me the unusual story behind it.

“Mike, the man who purchased these items, was a friend and a member of my church. You were most likely the last person he talked to on this earth, as he died of a massive heart attack while riding his bicycle back home from your store.”

Pastor Robert Durr went on to tell me that the fellow recently had bypass surgery. The main reason for Robert dropping by that day was to see if it was okay for his widow and some family members to talk to me. I said that was fine. The deceased person’s name is no longer remembered, but I believe it was Bud, and that’s what I’ll use here.

That afternoon, the family wanted to know if Bud had complained of any physical ailments when he stopped by that tragic day, and what he had said. I vaguely remembered things, mostly recalling the problem he was having with his vehicle. I said that if he was having any physical ailments, Bud never mentioned them to me. The group of mourners thanked me for my time and left.

Afterwards, it sank in that I was the last person this customer had spoken to, and I wondered what I’d said to him. I’m sure it was just automotive advice, of which I had some knowledge. The incident left a profound effect on me, so much so that a few years later, I wrote a story about it and sent it to “Guidepost” magazine. Unfortunately, they never published the article.

I have to admit that after that incident, there’ve been occasions when I said stuff to folks that I wish I could take back. This was always after a verbal tiff of some kind, or someone did something I didn’t like. I guess you could say I’ve matured a bit in the area of having a sharp tongue. There’ve still been a few times, though—when I slipped—this always related to politics.

Each day, if you’re like me, you run into strangers and chat for a few seconds before going your own way. I try to keep things positive in these encounters, always remembering that the main thing I want for them to remember about me is something positive. First impressions are lasting.

Pastor Durr told me after the funeral that there was a specific reason Bud saw me and not one of the other employees. Robert mentioned that he told his friend he needed to talk to Mike because he knows his stuff, and he’s a nice guy. That made me feel extremely good, and I’ve never forgotten the compliment, as they don’t come often enough.

These days, I try to keep that life lesson in perspective, hopefully, by always leaving a good impression on strangers I meet along the way. I know that Pastor Durr would be happy with me, wherever he is.

BETTER BUSINESS BUREAU

“There came a day when a man in a suit walked in and asked if Troy Hankins was around.”

Whenever I hear someone remark, “I’m going to report them to the Better Business Bureau,” I have to silently chuckle. I seldom hear the words ‘Better Business Bureau’ these days, although the organization still exists.

Wanting to know a bit about their history, I discovered enough to ‘whet my appetite.’ Folks from the millennial generation no longer use this statement and most likely haven’t a clue what it means.

The Better Business Bureau (BBB), formerly called the National Vigilance Committee, was founded in 1912 as a nonprofit organization dedicated to advancing marketplace trust.

It began in response to the increasing prevalence of misleading advertising in the early 20th century, with business leaders and advertising executives coming together to promote honesty and integrity in business practices.

Over the years, the BBB has expanded across North America, offering services such as business accreditation, consumer education, dispute resolution, and facilitating trust between businesses and the public.

Today, the BBB is supposed to serve as a valuable resource for consumers seeking reliable information about companies and their reputations, though I have some reservations here.

I’ve never reported a business to the BBB, because as my father always said, they’re nothing more than a meddling complaint department with zero legal authority to do anything. My dad was a businessman for a good many years, and I recall one instance when he received a letter from the bureau.

He read it and then tossed the professionally written paper in the trash. Later that day, out of curiosity, I fished it out. An agent from the BBB was asking for a reply to a customer’s complaint, the exact problem I no longer remember.

Dad owned an auto parts store at this time, and I worked for him, so most likely someone wanted to return a part, and my father refused. This happened on occasion with electrical parts—for good reason. A customer would install a part, and if that part wasn’t the problem, the new part could then be ruined in the process.

Dad had a large sign hanging above the counter explaining this policy, and it was also printed on invoices. Employees were taught to verbally mention it as well.

Some customers evidently couldn’t read, and I say that because, on occasion, someone still tried to return electrical switches or relays regardless of the chiseled-in-stone store rule.

Refusing to reimburse money could be dangerous. I once had someone toss a heavy starter solenoid at me when I told him it couldn’t be returned. Another time, after hours, someone chucked a starter through the front store window.

Getting back to that BBB complaint, over time, Dad received at least two more letters regarding the same issue, and each time he laughed and told us employees what was inside. They all ended up in the wastebasket, ripped in half. Always curious, I made sure to remove and read them for myself.

There came a day when a man in a suit walked in and asked if Troy Hankins was around. When I said he was out to lunch, the fellow left a business card with his name on it. Better Business Bureau was typed on top.

I was busy when the BBB agent reappeared. Finding my father this time, there were a few choice words as Dad immediately showed him the front door. I can vaguely remember the fellow saying as he exited the premises, “You’ll regret this!”

As far as I know, nothing ever happened afterwards. Quite unusual, though, was the morning I walked in and found a fairly large plaque behind the counter, hanging next to the first dollar bill that Dad’s company ever made. On it was written:

Presented to Troy Hankins – Muldoon Auto Parts – Business of the Year! Above it was printed “Better Business Bureau” with their logo.

I never asked, but I have a sneaky suspicion that my father’s friend in the trophy business created that award. In Dad’s way of viewing things, I suppose that phony plaque meant about as much as the agency itself. Hearing other stories about BBB from friends who own businesses, I tend to feel the same.

SLAUGHTERHOUSE CANYON

“That might explain an area with remnants of porcelain coffee cups and saucers still visible, along with shards of purple, green, and brown glass.”

My wife and I decided to drive to Slaughterhouse Canyon Road in Kingman and take a close peek at the site of a train wreck happening near there on September 20, 1916. With such a macabre namesake as slaughterhouse, the canyon is mostly known for a chilling tragedy rather than this horrific locomotive accident.

I especially wanted to check out the canyon, with Joleen somewhat hesitant, this late in spring. Rattlesnakes are now slithering about. Wearing the right boots and clothing, along with using ample amounts of caution, makes for less chance of getting bitten, although just the mere sight of a rattler can instantly turn a beating heart into a kettledrum. I know that for a fact.

Old Trails Road winds along the tracks for a good distance, and that was our main destination, and I had a vintage photograph to use to pinpoint the derailment. With this photo showing numerous Ford Model Ts parked alongside the road, gawkers back then were as common as they are today. I counted 74 people along with 13 vehicles. A horse-drawn wagon in the group has “ICE” written on its side.

Sadly, four people perished in this derailment, along with several injuries, mostly bruises and broken bones. The four crewmen who died are: Ralph W. Gholson – engineer. Harry A. Osborne – fireman. William Dickens – chef. John Pluhachet – chef. Early newspaper accounts have a couple of the names wrong. John Truddick was not killed, nor was there a Mickey or Michael Osborne.

Bringing my metal detector along, I knew I couldn’t legally detect within 25 feet of the railway tracks for lost items such as coins, rings, earrings, necklaces, cufflinks, buttons, and keys, yet Old Trails Road was wide open for investigation.

To get to Slaughterhouse Canyon, start by heading south from Kingman on U.S. Route 93. Take the exit for White Hills Road, then continue southeast onto Slaughterhouse Canyon Road (also known as Luana’s Canyon Road).

Follow this unpaved road for several miles; the area is remote, so a high-clearance or four-wheel-drive vehicle is recommended. We took our Jeep. Signs are minimal, so having a GPS or map for navigation is helpful.

Be mindful that the canyon is on public land, and the crossing is railroad land, while always respecting private property and posted restrictions. It took us a few minutes to find a route without private property signs.

Also known as Luana’s Canyon, Slaughterhouse Canyon is steeped in legend and is one of the most famous haunted locations in Arizona. The story dates back to the 1800s, during the Gold Rush, when many families moved to the area in search of fortune.

According to the most popular tale, a family lived in the canyon, and the father would often leave for weeks at a time in search of gold. One season, he did not return, leaving his wife and children with dwindling supplies.

As starvation set in, the mother, driven mad by hunger and despair, is said to have murdered and mutilated her own children and then killed herself. It is believed that their spirits still haunt the canyon, and visitors report hearing the mother’s cries and wails, especially on quiet nights. That’s one place I wouldn’t want to be after dark.

Over the years, the legend of Slaughterhouse Canyon has become a part of local folklore, attracting those fascinated by ghost stories and the supernatural. The site remains a chilling reminder of the hardships faced by early settlers and the tragic consequences of desperation.

My research shows that two different canyons in Arizona share the same name. One at Fort Huachuca, near Tucson, is called that because of cattle slaughter. I found mentions of Slaughterhouse Canyon in Kingman dating back to 1912 in archived newspapers. There must be some truth to the gruesome tale—otherwise, why would it be labeled that?

Things have changed in the area since 1916, with the tracks seemingly straightened out a bit. Much of the hill had been excavated, but there are portions of ground closest to the road that were undisturbed.

While metal detecting in this area, Joleen and I found the usual amount of discarded junk, such as old railroad spikes and other metal debris. When my meter registered a high 80, indicating perhaps something silver, I became excited, hoping it was a silver soup spoon. Unfortunately, it was aluminum foil.

Newspaper articles from 1916 mentioned that one of the wooden dining cars was literally ripped apart as it tumbled towards Old Trails Road. That might explain an area with remnants of porcelain coffee cups and saucers still visible, along with shards of purple, green, and brown glass.

Running out of time, we plan to go back. There has to be a bent fork that somebody tossed aside, lying in the rocks, waiting to be discovered, along with a few sun-baked Indian head pennies!

Train wreck near Slaughter Canyon (1916)

Remnants of coffee cups, saucers, and antique bottles

SUPERFRAGILISTIC

“I recently had a dream where Mary Poppins was sitting beside Humpty Dumpty on a stone wall.”

I can remember certain things from movies watched 60 years ago, but the same can’t be said for what I did two days previously. Short-term memory is said to decline with age, and I believe it.

One of the first things remembered from a movie was that Bambi’s mother died at the hands of a hunter. I’ve been corrected many times by others who watched the film, who claim that she lived. I then beg to differ and give a brief history lesson.

Research shows that in the original movie, she did not survive, yet because so many kids were traumatized, the ending was altered. I was evidently one of those who saw the original version because that tragic ending stuck with me.

In the Western movie “Shane,” the saddest part was when Shane, the cowboy, decided to leave a little boy and his mom. I can still see that kid running after him, calling out, “Shane, come back!” Having some sensitivity back then, I’m sure that brought tears to my eyes.

Of course, “Shane” didn’t end on the same note as “Bambi,” with the saddle tramp eventually returning. Saddle tramp is a term picked up from watching too many early Westerns, where I also learned some racist terms that I won’t mention.

“Old Yeller” is another one of these films that leave me heartbroken at the end. The beloved animal contracts rabies after a fight with a rabid wolf and has to be put down. I’ve only watched the movie once, but I still recall that tragic confrontation.

Very little is recalled from watching “The Sound of Music” other than a song by the same name, and the lead actress, Julie Andrews, dancing on top of a hill while singing it.

I do recall sadness when a certain family was forced to leave their home country, but that’s about it. One of these days, I’ll rewatch things to try and catch the main story, as I was way too young back then to understand.

One movie that didn’t leave sadness, at least for me, was “Mary Poppins.” A tongue-twisting word from the Walt Disney film stuck in my mind, although I had to research the correct spelling, “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.”

I sometimes use a shorter version, superfragilistic, to describe extremely fragile items, such as eggs and antique glass bottles. The GFCI electric receptacle in my bathroom is superfragalistic, because if I don’t plug my razor in lightly, the circuit will pop.

Three other things I remember from this movie were that Mary Poppins could fly with her umbrella and that actress Julie Andrews, once again, played the main part. “A spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down” were lyrics from a song in the film. Hopefully, those people following this suggestion aren’t diabetic.

I recently had a dream where Mary Poppins was sitting beside Humpty Dumpty on a stone wall. These strange dreams happen quite often, and I assume it’s because of some prescription drugs I take. I’ll blame it on Eliquis, although there’s no proof.

Much like the sad endings that occurred in “Bambi” and “Old Yeller,” my impromptu dream didn’t end on a high note either, with Humpty Dumpty falling off the wall despite Mary Poppins valiant attempt to stop him. You can only guess what happened next. Yep, he couldn’t be put back together again.

I’ll attempt to turn the ending of this seemingly glum composition into something more positive and insightful with my final recollection. There’s nothing worse than a story ending on a negative note.

Standing by the egg section in a grocery store a week or so ago, an ‘older than me’ woman opened a carton to check for broken ones. My wife always does the same, while I like to roll the dice and take an unopened carton home without peeking.

Quickly closing the carton flap, this lady placed it back and grabbed another while looking at me and cleverly saying. “I hope there’s no Humpty’s in this one!”

I made a quick mental note to tell my wife what the gal said, but by the time I exited the store, that recollection was lost in space. At my age, it appears that recent memories, much like eggs, can also be labeled “superfragilistic.”